


Your Life And Mine Are Parallel Lines

by pinklights



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Memory Loss, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Pining, Red Room (Marvel), Slow Build, Spycraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-09-27 15:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinklights/pseuds/pinklights
Summary: He thinks he's in love with her as she moved effortlessly through a crowd of hostiles without breaking a sweat. Her legs were around a man's neck, hands busy with the Glock, depositing two bullets into the skull of another who made the mistake of shooting at her and missing. When she landed on her knees with the man she used as a vantage point crashing down with her, an audible crack echoed with the heel of her boot.---In which memories with a certain redhead start bubbling up in Bucky Barnes' mind and he tries his best not to freak out about it all while attempting to hunt down a terrorist that may or may not be Hydra.





	1. Chapter 1

He thinks he's in love with her as she moved effortlessly through a crowd of hostiles without breaking a sweat. Her legs were around a man's neck, hands busy with the Glock, depositing two bullets into the skull of another who made the mistake of shooting at her and missing. When she landed on her knees with the man she used as a vantage point crashing down with her, an audible crack echoed with the heel of her boot.

Two down. Five to go. 

This shouldn't feel this thrilling, watching her ahead of him as she zapped another person with her bites. Another almost landed a knife in her spine had it not been for Bucky's own quick thinking. He shot the hand first and then the head, the sound of his body landing by Natasha's feet a satisfying thud. He reloaded and moved forward as she did, only shooting when he needed to—which was more times than he would have liked. Reformation meant washing the blood off his hands, not adding to it, but it came with the job. _ She _ certainly didn't mind.

The corridor they were storming led to a storage room where the item they were stealing was being kept. They took down most of the men on the floor and when they reached their target, it was surprisingly empty of any goons. It was suspicious; Natasha thought so too as she looked in his direction wordlessly. 

Bucky's eyes scanned the room, all dim lighting and old boxes—the perfect place for an ambush. And, like clockwork, an ambush they were greeted with. Smoke filtered through the vents and more men stormed in through the different entry points. Natasha ducked low, covering her nose with her scarf. Bucky didn't have to, slipping on his mask. There were at least ten of them circling the two assassins. Without hesitation, he started picking them off one by one. 

Natasha escaped from his line of sight, probably to look for the item in question. It was supposed to be a biochemical substance that melted flesh once released into the air. The target of the substance was supposedly one very outspoken congresswoman who's made enemies with various conservative parties. She was staying at the same hotel and she was at the charity event happening just two floors above them. However, the thing with this weapon was that it wouldn't just melt the congresswoman but all hundred and twenty guests at the party. Sharon and Sam were there, blending in with the crowd nicely and keeping an eye on them. 

Three down. Seven to go. 

Bucky slung his rifle and grabbed his knife from a back pocket when he was closed in, punching with his right (never his left) while digging the knife into the man's side.

"I found the case," Natasha said through the comms. A rustling sound came through the receiver, a pause, and then a curse, sharp and Russian. "We need to evacuate the building." 

"Copy that," Sam said. 

"How are you guys holding up?" Sharon asked. Bucky could hear someone speaking in the background through a microphone. 

"We're fine," he answered, throwing a knife into a man's skull. "We're almost done here. Keep an eye out for the weapon." 

"Copy." Fire alarms started blaring, not just from Sharon's end of the line but from their end too. The fastest way to evacuate a building was definitely to scare civilians but it also messy. Still, the water from the sprinklers would have helped with the airborne substance so that was something they were all willing to deal with. 

Soon, the sprinkler systems were activated and the smoke dissipated enough that he could see Natasha on the other side of the room strangling a man with a garrote. _ Oh _, he was definitely in love with her. 

Two quick bullets were all it took to get rid of the rest of them. By the time they met up with Sharon and Sam at the ballroom, it had mostly been cleared out. Everyone else there was too distracted and panicked to ask why two people in kevlar suits entered the room. Now, in a well-lit room with space to look, he spotted a gash near her abdomen. The blood that seeped through the material of her suit was hidden by the water from the sprinklers. Dammit. 

"I'm fine," she dismissed, pressing a hand against the cut before he could even speak. Had he been staring that long? 

"The congresswoman is on the roof. Helicopter should be there to pick her up by now." Sam looked at his watch, his brand new fancy suit soaked. 

Sharon was squeezing water from the hem of her dress as she approached them, her blonde hair clinging onto her head and down her neck. When he and Natasha dropped them off in front of the hotel just a couple of hours ago, they looked like a million bucks. Now they just looked funny. "No sign of the weapon, which is _ not _ good." 

"Let's have our team do a sweep," Natasha said, her steady voice masking the fact that the blood had seeped through her fingers as she put pressure on her wound. 

Bucky wordlessly moved towards her and took her hand away from her side to inspect the damage. She groaned in annoyance but let him anyway. "I said I'm fine." 

"That definitely needs attention." Sharon was already finished out her phone from her tiny clutch and was requesting for medics. Thirty minutes was all it took before their people arrived and Natasha was whisked away for an emergency fix-up. It was still so strange to call their little organization 'their people', as if he was a part of it. He _ was _ , definitely, but it felt strange to be a part of _ something _ in general. Something he _ chose _ to be a part of. 

While Natasha's stubborn ass was getting the medical attention she needed, he overlooked the sweep. Going through thirty floors was no easy feat but it distracted him enough that the feeling of disappointment he had in himself when he saw Natasha bleeding out faded into the confines of his heart. After about another couple of hours, they were on the jet at the nearest airport. Sam had gotten all of them coffee. Bucky was the only one left in his wet suit and was in the middle of changing out of it when Sam whistled in his direction. 

"A greek god, I'm telling you," he said in Sharon's direction. The blonde spy lady gave Bucky a once over and shrugged. She's seen better is what the gesture said. 

"Stop objectifying me, Wilson." He'd already disarmed himself, his jacket and vest off as well as his shirt. He pulled down his pants and quickly changed into dry ones as Sharon busied herself on the tablet, no doubt already looking for leads.

He'd been fumbling with dry socks when Natasha walked up and into the jet, hair damp and a hand on her side. She was wearing a shirt that didn't belong to her while the top part of her suit hung around her hips. She didn't look too happy.

Realizing _ he _ was still shirtless, he took an extra shirt out of his duffel but Natasha snatched it from him and moved along. That wasn't hers, was his first thought. His second was to ask if she was okay but Sharon beat him to it. 

"I'm fine," she dismissed, sitting on the long bench that ran on the side of the jet. "All in a day's work." 

Bucky rummaged around for an extra shirt and eventually found one and quickly slipped it on. When he turned back around, Sharon was already in the cockpit and shutting all the doors. Sam smiled to himself as the Widow peeled her suit from her legs, the shirt she had worn when she came in strewn on the floor. 

"Greek gods, I'm telling you," 

He didn't know who Sam was _ telling _ anymore since Sharon was busy doing her job and Natasha was busy—struggling—to get dressed. "Russian gods is more like it, Sam." 

Finally, the suit was also on the floor, leaving her in just her underwear. Bucky turned back around and quietly went through _ her _ bag until he found a pair of sweatpants. (He ignored the fact that he stumbled upon her intimates and felt blood creep up his cheeks on his mission to retrieving them.) Sam had handed her her own coffee and was seated next to Sharon by the time Bucky got around to approaching her. He sat beside her and placed the sweats between them, like some sort of offering or wall of protection. 

"Need help?" Now that she was half-naked and closer to him, he could see the bruise that crept from where the patched up wound was and traveled up the side of her ribs. 

Natasha sighed but nodded, which was a surprise. He had expected her to wave him away and refuse any help like she usually did but she handed him the shirt she stole from him and let him slip it over her, helping her move her arms through the armholes. His shirt was too big on her, the hem resting on her thighs. She managed to slowly put on the sweatpants before leaning back and taking a sip of the coffee Sam had offered. 

He wanted to ask her if she was alright but it was a dumb question. Instead, he sat there in silence and drank his own coffee. 

"Wheels up in five, kids," Sam announced. That meant that they needed to get strapped in but Natasha made no effort to move. 

"Stop babysitting me," she said, opening her eyes finally. "I'm hopped up on painkillers is all." 

"Was it as bad as I thought it was?" He gestured to her wound, eyes planted there as if he could see it through her shirt. 

"No. I've taken worse." 

Bucky knew that, of course. _ Worse _ was the silver scar that rested just above her pelvis near her hip bone, a similar scar on the other side of her body from where the bullet exited, courtesy of the Winter Soldier. Every time he saw it, he was reminded of why he'd avoided her the first few months after he was put out of cryostasis. Well, that and the _ other _ thing. 

He was still in Wakanda then, recovering. Steve, Sam, and her were staying for a couple of weeks to recuperate and hide out for a while. They barely talked. She barely looked at him and he paid her no attention. But one night, he had a dream about her. It was… well, he woke up with something a bit _stiffer_ than morning wood. It felt so real, but she looked different—younger. He felt every touch, every kiss that they shared. She spoke to him in Russian, called him Soldat. The memory of the sound she made against his ear in that dream was one he hasn't been able to shake. 

Bucky had to stand abruptly and move away from her, feeling the same kind of awkward confusion he had when he first had that dream. He strapped himself in the seat behind Sharon's and she followed, taking the seat beside his. He let himself slip into a nap with thoughts of the Natasha he saw in his dreams. She was beautiful and delicate but deadly, fiercely so. The Natasha he worked with now was not as soft or as naive as her but twice as deadly and even more beautiful.

When he woke with a jolt from having tripped on a line in his dream, the first word he whispered surprised him. With his breath shaky and his forehead sweaty, he murmured her name in the dark, an inexplicable pain swelling in his chest. "Natalia."

Beside him, Natasha was knocked out and curled under a blanket. She was sound asleep, lines appearing on her forehead from the frown on her face. Bucky wanted badly to reach over and touch her, to make sure she was real and not just another dream, another memory. He remembered her, finally, the events of the day shaking his subconscious awake. The pain in his chest settled in his stomach once he realized who she was—who she _really_ was. _ His Natalia. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike my recent fics, this one is actually planned out and I've written most of it already so expect frequent updates! Writing mission fics might be my new thing idk yet. Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky doesn't trust his own mind and we finally find out what exactly happened in Odessa in 2009... kind of.

Bucky was hunched over a laptop on the sofa, eyes scanning the files he had just downloaded. There were quite a few of them to absorb for the night and he doubted he'd be done by sun up. Steve was combing back his hair by the mirror in the entry way, leaving him instructions like he was some sort of five-year-old. 

"Would you go already? I won't set your dumb apartment on fire." 

"Jerk," Steve quipped, peering over his shoulder to which he automatically turned the screen away from his blonde friend. "What are you doing anyway?" 

"Work. I have a _ job _ now, you know." He rolled his shoulders back and waited until Steve walked over to the coathanger to fetch his jacket to open the screen again. On it was a name: _ Natasha Romanoff. _

"Modern-day pornography is a lot like in the '40s, only in color." 

Bucky's head whipped around in Steve's direction, brows furrowed. He hasn't even _ thought _ about that. The fact that Steve has watched modern-day pornography was simmering in his brain. He was supposed to be Captain fucking America. "Does Sharon know?" 

Steve slipped his arms into his jacket and shrugged it into place, the brown leather hiding the blue of his buttoned-up shirt. He looked like a grandpa compared to how Bucky had been dressing—all black and soft fabrics. It was hard to shop when his left arm didn't give to materials as much as his right did. One time, Sam got him a shirt and when he tried it on, the left sleeve tore off. 

"_She's _ the one that showed me," Steve explained_. Of course she did_. Modern women were a different kind. His sister Rebecca would have loved the 21st century. "She asked me if pornography existed in the '40s and—after I choked on my water—I told her yes." 

"Okay? I'm not looking at pornography." Bucky returned to his laptop and scratched the back of his head. He hasn't gone through these files even if the whole world has. He was frankly afraid of what he'd find, if he'd find himself there or if he'd find nothing at all. 

"I'm saying, you have the house to yourself tonight. I don't think I'll be coming home." He could hear the smirk on Steve's face as he spoke and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. 

"Steve, get out," Bucky deadpanned. 

"Call me if you need anything. Or not." 

Bucky waved his hand over his head and Steve told him to 'have fun', whatever that meant, before he finally left. The Winter Soldier let out a long sigh, relieved to finally have some time alone with his little project. He hasn't told her what he remembered—what he thought he remembered. If it was real, why didn't she tell him? Did she also forget? Did they wipe him from her memories, too?

He stretched overhead and put the laptop on the coffee table in front of him, eyes beginning to scan every single line of information on Natasha. 

> **Name:** Natasha Alianovna Romanoff
> 
> **Alias:** Black Widow
> 
> **Birthplace:** Volgograd, USSR
> 
> **Birthdate:** 4 November 1984
> 
> **Alliance: **KGB (former), SHIELD, Avengers

Already, Bucky had to pause and analyze the data that was presented to him. That can't be right. If memory served him well, they met long before the '90s or even the 2000s, although his memories seldom served him at all so maybe the file was right and the memories in his head were planted there like he originally thought they were. Still, Bucky took a mental note of this as he continued digging through her files.

It contained a long list of covers she's used over the years and which purposes they served her. Hundreds of mission reports, names of targets she's had to put down, names of people she's had to help. It held her record of history with the Avengers Initiative. Unlike Soviet intel, there were no redacted bars of black in her SHIELD file. 

The only time his name appeared was in the late 2000s, her mission in Odessa. That particular memory was hazy for him but her words painted a vivid enough picture. 

> _ 05 August 2009 - Odessa _
> 
> _ My task was to transfer nuclear engineer Dr. Petyr Van Houten through Odessa to take him into protective care. We were in the middle of a five-hour drive on a dark highway when two Soviet slugs blew out the back tires of my SUV. It was about 0130 hours. We toppled over the side of the road and tumbled down the slope. _
> 
> _ I lost consciousness for approximately three minutes before I started smelling gasoline. I hauled the semi-conscious Dr. Van Houten out of his seat and onto the side of the vehicle as I surveyed our surroundings. It was almost pitch-black, the distant street lights illuminating the far sides of the road. Our assailant emerged from the shadows to my left near a patch of trees. He wore a dark mask, hair long, full gear. He was just one man, alone. _
> 
> _ Dr. Van Houten got on his feet behind me as I drew my weapon. I shot at the assailant twice before he drew his own weapon. _
> 
> _ I shot at him three more times, aiming for soft spots I saw in his gear, but he deflected them all with a metal arm. It was made of a strong metal, strong enough to deflect bullets, a red star painted on the side. It was then that I realized that I was standing face to face with the Winter Soldier. The intelligence community still thought of him as a myth but he was there in front of me that night, more man than ghost. _
> 
> _ The doctor cowered behind me in fear, ducking and clinging onto my jacket. The Winter Soldier took a single shot that ended the mission—he fired a pistol that was aimed at the doctor's head, the bullet entering through me and digging into his skull. _

Bucky sighed and rubbed his eyes, leaning back against the couch to try and recall at least some of this. He didn't remember much, only that he shot a woman and killed a man. When he returned to his handlers, they put him in the chair and kept him away in their basement for later use. That's how it's always been with his missions. The Asset was only allowed to see the daylight when they wanted them to, and even then, he didn't get to see much of it. How could he have had the affair he had with the Widow if he was stored away when not in use? He could remember only some parts of it vividly, but most of all he remembered how he felt—how his heart leaped whenever Natalia smiled and how weak she made him feel with a single touch. He shrugged the dull ache in his chest away and went back to the laptop to continue. 

> _ The doctor and I collapsed on the ground—him dead, me about to. I emptied my round in the Winter Soldier's direction but the through-and-through was taking a toll on my aim. He approached me and tilted his head to the side, I assumed to check on the doctor. He held his gun there and I waited for him to shoot me, too, but he hit me with the butt of it instead and I was knocked unconscious. _
> 
> _ When I woke up about two hours later, the doctor was still dead and I was still about to die. I called for a medevac immediately. Thankfully, the SUV didn't explode, but the mission was still a failure. _

Why did he do that? Bucky couldn't remember that part about him knocking her unconscious and it was out of character to do so. Why didn't the Winter Soldier make sure that both of his targets were dead? He groaned out loud and scrubbed his face with his flesh hand, forcing his brain to cooperate. It wasn't like him to _not_ kill. He was a clean worker—no witnesses, no survivors. It's why he was a known assassin. He's killed people for less. 

Bucky scrolled further, turning every stone that was available to him. It was ridiculous that, at one point, common people had access to these very confidential files. The United States government and whatever was left of SHIELD tried their best to stop them from spreading but not before others have kept them for themselves. Bucky was lucky that it was easy to hack into Steve's cloud. Getting access to his files through the internet was easy as pie, which was both hilarious and alarming. He took another mental note to put up more security in his friend's computer after this little task. 

It was about eleven o'clock when Bucky decided to stop. He'd read faster than he thought he would. It was getting clearer and clearer that, aside from Odessa, he didn't exist in her life. Not publicly, at least. Why he didn't just ask her was beyond him. Was he afraid of something? Was he afraid of _ her? _

He shut the laptop off and decided to go to the gym. His preferred gym was two and a half hours away at the Avengers facility but he didn't mind the drive. He packed a duffel and took his motorcycle out, the engine roaring underneath him as loud as the storm brewing in his heart. The cool wind and the speed he was going felt good. He needed to clear his head. He needed to punch something. 

It turned out that he wasn't the only one in need of a workout. On his way to the gym, he heard skin making contact against heavy leather. As he approached, he heard grunts, the sound of the punches getting louder as he entered the hall. Behind a reinforced punching bag was a pair of legs. It was only when the bag swayed far enough from the person that he saw a flash of red. 

"Natalia," he said out loud without thinking, thankfully not loud enough that she would hear… at least he hoped. 

He knew that she knew he was there but she paid him no attention, her punches only coming faster as she assaulted the bag. Someone’s had a bad day. He didn’t move from his spot, unsure if he was allowed in the gym with her or if he should leave. But he decided that leaving would have been a coward’s move and Bucky Barnes was no coward. It didn’t matter how daunting it was to be alone with her. He started wrapping his hands, even the left one.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, Barnes?" When she finally did speak, she was out of breath, landing a kick on the bag and steadying it as it came back to her. She was covered in sweat from head to toe, skin glistening under the warm light, cheeks red. He's seen how red those cheeks can be in his dreams. He had to turn away from her, the memory of the way her skin felt under his arms receding to the back of his mind. These memory implants, if they _were_ implants, were good. Too good.

“Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you.” Bucky moved towards the punching bag one over, giving her space. He stretched, cracking the muscles on his neck to warm up, rounding his shoulders back and getting into position. 

He was about to start punching when she spoke again, her voice like honey. “Brooklyn’s a long way from here.” 

When Bucky looked over to her, she was still holding onto the punching bag, leaning against it. How long has she been beating the shit out of that thing? More importantly, what's gotten her so worked up that she felt like she needed to hit something?

“I needed some air. The city’s stuffy.” He landed a punch on the bag to distract him from the memories of them, from the ache he felt whenever he looked at her. He continued a steady pace, warming up. “Any update on that weapon we were conned into finding?”

“No,” she said, her voice a little closer than it had been before. Bucky didn’t need to look to know that she’s moved from her bag to the one beside his. “Sharon’s been looking and I have, too, but it seems like we were played.”

“We weren’t played. Too many men in that building for it to have just been for nothing.” She knew this, too, because she was her and she was brilliant. Plus, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what the conman really wanted. It was to draw them out. But why? The Avengers were known to the public. They had plush toys and everything.

The sound of his punches against the bag was the only thing that filled the room for a while. She stood there silently like a ghost, watching—observing? “Why don’t you use your left arm more? It’s reinforced. You don’t have to hold back.”

“Just warming up, doll.” He made sure to punch with his real strength then, the bag swaying back a bit. Her gaze was burning the side of his face and he was convinced that he was going to melt at any second. She was a spy, first and foremost. Whatever it was she was assessing about him was going to be put on some record of hers somewhere. (At least then, he’d exist in her file.)

He kept on with his pace, getting into a better tempo than earlier, faster. She was stubborn about her openly observing him, knowing well that he’d take notice of it. But he was stubborn about ignoring it, too, because he was sure that if he looked at her, he’d blurt out something stupid like recollections of their alleged past affair or declarations of love.

“I’m going to sleep,” she announced, yielding. Whether or not she got what she was trying to get from him, he didn't know. But he was willing to bet that this won't be the last time she'll try one of her tricks on him. “You can stick around for breakfast if you want to. Wanda’s been practicing her cooking and she’s making pancakes tomorrow.”

Natasha turned on her heel before Bucky could even reply. He let his eyes wander after her then, his punches never stopping as to not give away the fact that he was staring at her. He opened his mouth to say something—her name? a goodnight?—but he closed it again, coming up empty despite the flurry of questions he needed answers to. There were so many things he wanted to ask her. Was it real? If so, did she remember him? However, he returned his eyes to the bag, punching harder, faster. Maybe he _was _a coward after all. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of Nat in this chapter but at the same time a whole lot of her, too? Bucky's about to lose it. Thank you for reading as always <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky's search leads him to rely on a new friend only to stumble out the other side with more conflicting feelings.

When Natasha invited him for breakfast, Bucky assumed that she’d also be there but when he walked into the kitchen, she was nowhere to be found. Apparently, it was just going to be Wanda, Vision, and the menace of his life, Sam. The floating android shared, after Sam had asked, that Natasha had gone out for a drive early that morning but that she hasn’t returned yet. Wanda explained that Natasha came and went as she pleased. She had an apartment in the city that she liked to maintain, apparently—finally some information that would be useful. For what, Bucky didn’t know yet. But he complimented the witch on her pancakes and she smiled at him gratefully.

Bucky decided to hang around the facility for the rest of the day but not before texting Steve about his whereabouts. Having him as a roommate had its perks but two grown super soldiers do not make good roommates. Bucky was still trying to figure out his living situation. He’s been trying to figure out his living situation for months now but every place he checked out didn't feel right. It was either too exposed or too closed off. The trend of glass houses in the 21st century was one of the things he had a difficult time understanding. Sharon had been helping him apartment hunt though. She was one of the more helpful blondes in his life at the moment. 

He spent the whole day in the lounge looking through Natasha’s files again, picking on her history prior to SHIELD. She had no record prior to being trained in the Red Room and being recruited into the KGB. It was as if she just popped up in these organizations with no clear details surrounding her past. The Red Room Academy lost its purpose when the USSR broke apart, as did the KGB, but aligning their historical dates to her birthdate was proving to be difficult. Did SHIELD not look into this? Or was someone there complicit in these files not making any sense? 

Wanda wandered in a little after dinner, which he skipped. She paused when she realized he was there and moved to leave but he stopped her. “You don’t need to go. This is _ your _house.”

“Oh,” she turned towards him then and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Well, not _ mine. _ But, I suppose you’re right.”

Bucky gave her a small smile and returned to reading through the Widow’s files. He'd gotten as far as 2014, right before the fall of SHIELD—a fall he helped with greatly. Wanda plopped onto the couch just ahead of him and turned on the screen. She browsed through movie titles for a couple of minutes before she settled on what looked like a romantic comedy. His eyes were reading the files, yes, but his ears were picking up bits of the movie as well. 

It was a story about a man who wanted to erase his girlfriend from his mind after they had broken up. Bucky found it absolutely ridiculous but he half-watched anyway. He thinks Wanda might have cried at some point, but he personally didn't get the appeal. As someone who's had most of his life wiped out, this dude was asking for trouble. 

A voice from behind him startled him enough to make him hit his knee against the leg of the table, a curse escaping his lips.

“What are you looking for in Agent Romanoff’s files? Perhaps I could help you search for it faster.” Wanda looked up from her movie but went back to her watching when she saw that it was just Vision.

“Don’t sneak up on people like that,” he warned, closing the laptop quickly and groaning. “Where the hell even—?”

“I told you not to do that, Viz,” Wanda said from the couch, hugging a pillow against her chest. The man in the movie, Joel, was lying down on a frozen lake with the girlfriend he wanted to forget. 

“I apologize, Sergeant Barnes.” Vision moved from his side to the front of the table, blocking Bucky’s view of the movie. “Still, I could be of assistance.”

Bucky considered it for a second but he shook his head. “No. I don’t think you can help. Thanks though.”

“What were you looking for? Maybe_ I _ can help.” Wanda shifted in her seat to rest her chin on the back of the couch. Vision moved out of the way and went to sit beside her, pausing the movie for her. If there was anyone in that compound that could possibly help him, it was probably going to be her. He’s been briefed on her abilities, has been shared stories of how she once infiltrated the minds of her fellow Avengers. She was like the chair Hydra stuck him in but in human form. However, her powers were far too unpredictable.

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighed and pushed away from the desk to move towards her. He sat in one of the armchairs and leaned back. “It’s about my memories. I just remembered something but I don’t know if it’s real.”

Trusting people like this took him a long time but being in Wakanda and recovering there helped a lot. It softened him, made him less closed-off to help. Sometimes he even missed it there; the rolling pastures, the peaceful scenery, the arms technology he wasn't allowed to touch, Shuri updating his arm even when it was working fine, T'challa looking at him with both contempt and pity—it was the dream. 

Wanda sat up and smiled at him. He could tell that it delighted her to be of use to people. The Avengers haven't really been seeing a lot of action lately. Lucky them. “I can check them for you. Please? I’m so bored here.”

After yet another sigh, Bucky nodded. Wanda told him to sit back and relax as much as he could. _ That _ was difficult, but he managed to anyway (as best as he could). His brain contained decades worth of information and memories he’s been blocked from. Somewhere in there were memories of his time with Natasha when she was younger and when he didn’t have a name—or nothing at all, he still wasn't sure. He closed his eyes and took a breath, slowly letting it out through his nose as Wanda stood behind him and held her hands near his temples.

* * *

Everything was dark, but then again that was the only way they could meet—in the darkness. It was hazy, like most of his memories, but he was there. The texture of the wood against his fingertips was familiar, cold and old. This was the Red Room. Bucky heard the sound of someone giggling and then someone shushing them. 

_ “You need to be quiet, my darling.” _ The voice which spoke in Russian was low yet familiar. It took him a couple of seconds to realize it was his own voice. 

_ “Oh, Soldat, all I want to do is scream when you touch me.” _ A woman. The honey-coated tone gave away who that voice belonged to. Bucky felt his heart drop to his stomach.

Bucky rounded the corner and saw a door left ajar, in it more darkness, yet, warmth. He didn’t know how he was hearing their conversation so clearly when he was sure they had been whispering then but he hung onto every word. Then, after a few moments, he realized why they sounded loud and clear to him. He created that memory with her. What he was hearing was inside his own head.

Without looking, he knew that Natalia was lying naked on top of the Soldier’s own bare body, his fingers, metal and flesh, running up and down her sides which was the reason for her giggling. Her face was so close to his that he could feel her breath on his cheek, see the flecks of amber in her green eyes. This was one of their stolen moments, a brief pocket of happiness in the cage that they lived in. 

_ “Perhaps next time, I could visit you when you go on your mission then you can scream to your heart’s content.” _

_ “I’ll look forward to it.” _

A pause—a _kiss_. Bucky almost felt it on his own lips, how soft it was, how sweet. Suddenly, footsteps—five? Ten? That night, the Soldier didn’t know. Bucky stayed outside in the hallway as a group of men barged inside the door. A scream, a shout—they both struggled but they were both hit with electric batons that subdued them. The commander threw Natalia’s clothes at her and demanded that she got dressed. He did the same to the Soldier, threatening Natalia’s life if he tried to do anything. To the Soldier, nothing else was more important than Natalia so he obliged before he was hit in the head and electrocuted again.

Bucky definitely felt that, like a jolt to his system except unlike his usual dreams, he didn’t wake up from this one. 

_ “Don’t hurt him! He did nothing wrong!” _ Though she tried to be threatening and strong, her emotions caught in her throat. Her protests only earned the Soldier another zap. 

_ “He has done many things wrong, I’m afraid.” _

Bucky couldn't remember any of this, his only dreams of Natasha ones where they would hole up and lose themselves to each other, but now it all came surging back at him like a tidal wave of pain and longing washing over his body. He had to brace himself against the wall, feeling unsteady—as unsteady as the Soldier inside whose body was limp yet struggling against the restraints put on him. 

All he could see was Natalia's face, lip torn and bruised from the commander hitting her. He knew how the Red Room worked. One mistake and the girl would be dead; that had been his greatest fear—her dying because of his foolishness because he pursued a _ feeling _.

More screaming erupted from the room, more ruckus as Natalia tried to fight the men who held her back from her Soldier. With her training, she should have been able to stop all of them but she was beaten down anyway. She had been compromised, physically and emotionally, because she too followed a _ feeling _. She was a Black Widow. Feelings were out of the question. Feelings got them killed. 

_ "Where are you taking him?" _ she demanded, voice rough from screaming. 

_ "Far away, little spider." _ The commander replied, and then, to the men, _ "Let's put him in the chair. And then in ice. The doctors know what to do." _

_ "Chair? Ice? What—" _ Natalia tried hard to make sense of what was happening but she was hit with another blast of electricity. 

_ "You remember this day, Natalia. You remember it and remember your failure." _ There was venom in his voice, a sting that was meant for the Widow. She was their top student, their best agent. _ "Lucky for you, you're too valuable to kill. However, perhaps a program would do you good." _

The commander gestured for the men holding the Soldier to escort him out. He was dragged out of the room and into the dark hallway. Bucky braced himself as he watched the scene unfold before him. 

_ "Stay alive, Natalia," _ the Soldier yelled out by the door with whatever strength he had left. This earned him another hit, another electrocution. He had disobeyed orders, fraternized with his comrade, fell in love. This was not the life the Asset was meant to live. He wasn't meant to live a life at all. 

Bucky peeked into the room but saw a blur of darkness—no Natalia, no soldiers, just nothing. 

He followed the Soldier where he was dragged, three floors underground, beneath the Red Room. On the outside, it just looked like an old house but it was much more than that underneath. The Soldier was put in a chair, his mind containing only one thing. 

_ "Foolish boy." _ The commander punctuated his remark with a backhanded slap across the Soldier's face. _ "Was she worth it? Was she all you ever dreamed of?" _

The Soldier's steel eyes cut through the commander's gaze, unyielding. Another slap. _ "Maybe she's just _ that _ good." _ Bucky didn't like that tone. The Soldier didn't either, a snarl appearing on his face. _ "I'll just have to try her for myself, huh, Soldier?" _

A wicked grin spread across the man's face and Bucky almost lurched forward from where he was observing. The Soldier struggled against his restraints—yelling, groaning—but the chair had been made for him specifically. Of course he wouldn't be able to be free of it but he tried anyway, tried his best to land a punch to wipe the grin off the commander's face. Bucky felt his chest tighten. 

The commander laughed as the men restrained him, pushing the Soldier back against his seat so that the metal piece that looked like the bare bones of a helmet held his head in place. A mouth guard was shoved into his mouth and he bit it bitterly. Bucky braced himself for what was to come next. He might not have remembered this part but he's been shoved in that chair far too many times to forget what it felt like. _ Natalia. Stay alive. I'll find you _. Those were the Soldier's last thoughts before unheard of voltage coursed through his veins, stinging every inch of his body, ripping away the one good thing in his life from him. 

"What the hell is going on here?" A loud, familiar voice pierced through his memory and brought Bucky back to consciousness. He woke up with a gasp, hands digging into the armrests of the chair, tears in his eyes. 

By the door, Natasha stood with furrowed brows and a frown. Bucky's heart broke at the sight of her. He had to stop herself from running towards her and enveloping her in his arms. How long has he been working with Steve and his friends? Months? A year? And she’d been under his nose this entire time.

"Sergeant Barnes wanted to find something," Vision said when neither he nor Wanda responded. Remembering the witch that helped him, his head whipped back and found her wiping tears from her eyes. Bucky stood immediately, despite his own tears, to check on the girl. 

"Wanda's powers aren't stable. I can't believe you let her do this." 

Whether or not the reprimand was for him or Vision, Bucky didn't know. With his back turned to the woman he loved, he fussed over Wanda, his hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." 

"Wanda, let's go." Natasha was standing right behind him now, voice stern. It took everything in him not to look at her, sure that he wouldn't be able to contain himself if he did.

Wanda took a couple of deep breaths and finished wiping her tears away before she looked over at Natasha and then, slowly, at him. "It's real,” she muttered, confirming something he already knew. “It's real, Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Italics means Russian.) 
> 
> When I said this was going to be a slow build, I meant it. _Things_ will be happening soon! Thank you so much for reading. Don't forget to leave me comments and kudos. I love hearing your thoughts <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky and Natasha go back to a familiar seaside town to lure a terrorist out of hiding.

Bucky didn't know what to do with the information he got, neither did he know what to do with the ache he felt in his chest as Natasha led Wanda away from him. His memories were _ real _ . Natalia was real. That first dream he had in Wakanda was, indeed, a _ memory _, as well as all the other dreams that followed. Without him even knowing, he was slowly remembering her, remembering the relationship they had shared a long time ago. Somehow, seeing her get hurt under his watch was the last straw that put a dent in the code they’ve put in his brain.

He’d been packing his things in the room he crashed in the night before, his back was to the door but he knew she was there anyway, watching him silently. This stand-off was a difficult one to break. Both of them were too stubborn and too highly trained to crack under any sort of pressure like this. However, it seemed like his patience was a lot longer than hers.

“Sharon found a lead on the conman,” she offered, sounding less angry than she had been earlier. He wondered if Wanda told her what happened, what she saw. “Her sources traced him back to Ukraine.”

Bucky took a deep breath and turned to her then, as if he was preparing for a jumpscare (Sam had introduced him to the world of modern horror movies and he found them quite entertaining). She looked harmless, her hair falling on her shoulders as she leaned against the doorframe. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was at ease. But he did know. She was never at ease, at least not around him. “Need me for anything?”

Natasha kept still by the door, arms crossed over her chest. “I narrowed down the list of people the person might want to draw out in the open. I’ll give you a hint. It’s neither Sam nor Sharon.”

“That’s a very short list.” As former Soviet agents, that would make a lot of sense. They operated in the shadows, made big and powerful enemies that also lurked there. Natasha’s SHIELD file didn’t contain all of her secrets, he knew this now. And him? Well, no one even knew he was still alive. “So," he said, "what’s the plan?”

* * *

The plan, apparently, was to make their presence known to lure whoever it was out. Sharon sent them on an in-and-out in Odessa, mostly to extract some intel, but that meant getting on a jet and flying there and stomping all over the place hoping that whoever had it out for them would show up. That also meant holing up in safehouses and walking around town like they were normal people and not the two most dangerous assassins in the world. 

Natasha didn’t ask him about the thing with Wanda but Bucky knew she was curious about it. She’d stare at him a little longer when she thought he wasn’t aware of it and she’s become very picky with her word choice every time they spoke. It was like playing an elaborate game of charades. He hasn’t been on a mission with just her before. Even during their relationship in the Red Room, he would go on his and she would go on hers (but somehow they managed to end up together anyway). It pained him to not say anything, but he didn’t know where he would even start. So he settled with observing her, watching her work, which he’s always loved doing anyway.

They were sitting in a cafe near the beach, him reading a newspaper and her on her laptop, transmitting the files they lifted from a local agency to Sharon. He peeked at her from the top of the paper, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as she concentrated on what she was doing. Underneath the sunshine like this, he could see exactly how much her face has changed over the years. They were signs of aging, yes, but also signs of _ life _. She did live. She did survive. His Natalia, all these years, has been working so hard to pay for things she had been manipulated into doing.

“Is there something on my face, Barnes?” She didn’t look up from whatever it was she was reading, but of course she felt his eyes on her. 

“Just your face,” he said, turning the page of the local newspaper and reading through another column he didn’t quite care about. It wasn’t a lie, what he said. He had been observing, watching—appreciating.

“Got something on your mind?” That’s when she looked up, closing the laptop in front of her and finally taking a sip of the iced coffee that has been sitting beside her for twenty minutes. His own cup was empty. He could still taste the bitterness on his tongue.

“Lots.” His eyes met hers briefly before going back to his reading.

“Anything interesting in today's news?"

"A farmer is missing and they're suspecting that the wife has something to do with it." At least that's what he thinks it was. As similar as Ukrainian was to Russian, it was still a different language. He was able to understand most of it, but he wasn’t as good as she was. She’d ordered them their drinks earlier and even chatted with the barista about the weather. In front of him, Natasha chuckled.

"She probably _ did _have something to do with it." 

"Innocent until proven guilty," he pointed out. The paper served no purpose other than to distract himself from her very presence. He wanted to ask her how she's been, how she survived all these years, how she was still alive. Instead, he asked, "Want to check out the beach?" 

And, because she liked surprising him, she said, "Sure." 

* * *

“So, the last time I was in this city, someone shot out my tires,” Natasha sipped on her iced coffee and looked over to him, a small smirk on her face. They sat by the docks because the beach was too full, their legs dangling over the edge with at least an arm's length between them. The sun was at a point in the sky where it was preparing to dive into the horizon. If they were regular people on a regular vacation, this would have been the perfect time to hold her hand.

He chuckled instead and kept his hand firmly on his side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Romanoff.”

“It was lousy work, too,” she teased. “Would have been easier to shoot one tire and then the driver. But I have a feeling that the assailant had a flare for the dramatic.” Bucky felt his heart grow three sizes bigger. They had been sidestepping around each other this whole time for some reason. He knew what _his_ was, but he didn’t know hers. This was probably the first time they just relaxed. Bucky doesn’t ever remember feeling this content and he was afraid that it wouldn’t last but it didn’t stop him from looking over at her and staring at how the sunlight hit her eyes and turned it into a brighter shade of green. 

“Something on my face, Barnes?” She turned and met his eyes, the smirk still on her face.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile despite himself. “Just your face as always, Romanoff.” 

“Got a problem with it?” She raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of her coffee and finishing it off.

“Nah,” he shrugged, looking out to the water again briefly before turning back to her. “Just reminds me of something.” 

“Oh? What?”

The wind was sweeping some of her hair that she had tied up earlier across her face. She was still the most beautiful woman in the world in his eyes, no amount of time or trauma changed that. The hand he kept to himself twitched, stopping itself from reaching for her and tucking the loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Something I lost.”

The answer took Natasha by surprise, he could tell. If it were any other person, they wouldn’t have noticed how a muscle twitched in her jaw or how her eyes widened for a brief second. But he saw all of these things. Even the way she recoiled and looked down at her hands was telling. He taught her better than that, he wanted to say. But then again, maybe she _let_ him see her get flustered.

When she didn’t reply, he continued talking. Given, sitting around and luring out a potential mass murderer was probably not the best time to be talking about their past, but he couldn’t resist it. They’ve been holed up together for a couple of days now and if he doesn’t at least try to tell her now, he probably won’t be able to in a long time. “I think I’ve found it, though. Just need to make sure if it’s the real deal.”

Natasha was about to say something when her phone started ringing in her bag. She hesitated and looked at him before fishing it out. 

"Hello?" 

Sharon's voice was loud, almost frantic on the other side of the line but Bucky couldn't make out what she was saying from where he sat. The noise from the beach and the waves crashing against the docks wasn't helping either. Bucky tried to hone in, catching bits of information. It was about the information Natasha had recently relayed, something about blueprints… and an explosive? 

His listening in was interrupted by a shriek on the beach followed by a group of people yelling. Bucky stood, as did Natasha, both of them trying to figure out what the ruckus was about. Soon, people were running. Not away from something specifically but running around frenzied, hands clawing at their faces. Some of them ran into the water, others to the buildings that lined the beach. _Shit._

Bucky started running, Natasha following closely after she grabbed her bag from the floor. The call with Sharon ended abruptly as she shoved her phone in her pocket. The motorcycle was parked near the cafe they spent the afternoon at, near the center point of the beach. There was no time for it. If the information about the biochemical weapon was right, it would spread in a matter of minutes. They still didn't know how much of it was already spread on that beach or how. 

"We need to get a ride," Bucky said, eyes scanning the area to find a car he could hotwire once they were on the street. 

"We need to get people out of here." 

"They're already running. _ We _ have to get out of here." 

She started running in the direction opposite of _ safe _ and Bucky cursed under his breath. She yelled for people to move from their seats where they were resting in the outdoor restaurants, telling them to run as far as they could. Bucky started doing the same, keeping an eye on her to make sure she wouldn't wander anywhere near the center of the beach. However, she was moving in that direction anyway. God damn hero. "Let's go, Romanoff."

Natasha whipped her head around, trying to find something in the crowd - or someone. A man with a red face was screaming near them and Bucky's patience was running extremely low. "Romanoff!" 

The redhead was about to break into a sprint to warn more people when Bucky caught her arm, forcing her to turn to him. He didn't mean to yell, but what he said came out a little stronger than he wanted. "I'm not losing you again, _ Natalia! _"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd consider this chapter the calm before the storm. Thank you again for reading <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tension builds and Bucky punches a hole through a wall.

Natasha tossed her bag onto the sofa in frustration while Bucky headed straight for the TV, flipping onto a news channel that was already broadcasting the terrorist attack on the beach. The reach wasn't that wide, thankfully, and it seemed to have dissipated during their drive to the outskirts of town to their safehouse. She didn't talk to him the whole ride. He didn't know if it was because she was listening intently to the radio or if it was something else, but she wasn't too happy with him. 

Bucky started dialing Sharon, putting her on speaker when she picked up and setting the phone on the coffee table. He remained standing while Natasha sat on the sofa, still refusing to look at him. 

"About fifteen injured and six casualties. The local hospitals had to submerge patients in ice baths to keep the chemical from spreading," Sharon said. 

"Did they find a point of origin?" Bucky asked, eyes on top of Natasha's head. 

"A cooler was left on the beach. When no one claimed it, curious citizens opened it to see what's inside." 

"And we still don't know who this is?" Natasha spoke for the first time in almost an hour. There was a catch in her voice. It surprised them both. 

"No. No one's claimed it."

"Alright, Sharon. We'll see what we can do here." Bucky turned the call off and sighed. Natasha stood and went into the bathroom, the door locking behind her. Soon, the sound of the shower started and he sighed again, rubbing his hand on his face. 

He went to lay on the bed to wait for her to finish but he must have dozed off because she was already dressed when he opened his eyes again, towel hanging on her shoulders as she dried her hair with it. She looked less tense, more at ease, but he knew her enough to know that she was anything but.

"Why did you go through my file?" Her eyes were on the TV but flickered in his direction as he sat up on the bed. 

Bucky considered lying but there was no use doing that now. "I was trying to find something." 

"Seems like an on-going theme with you." Her tone was flat, not a hint of her usual sarcasm present. 

"Yeah, well, Hydra took a lot of important things from me." He scratched the back of his head and headed for the bathroom, already peeling his shirt off on the way. He paused near the door to look at her. “What really happened in Odessa all those years ago?”

Natasha met his eyes, so stubbornly trying to make him back down but he wouldn’t. His patience has run out and, truthfully, he was just tired. Her voice was steady when she spoke, no ounce of emotion there. “You read my file. You know what happened.”

“Why didn’t I _kill_ you?” The words stumbled out of his mouth without him thinking them through. It was one of the questions he needed answers to, one of the easier ones if he was being honest.

It took her a couple of seconds to answer, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she let out a sigh. “You almost did.” She paused, waiting for him to fill the space with words or a reaction but he only stared back at her and she continued. “I pulled a card I didn’t think would work.”

He raised an eyebrow at that and said, “What did you do?”

Natasha shook her head, dismissing it. “Whatever you’re looking for in my file, you won’t find it there. Everything that SHIELD knows about me is what I fed them.” 

She wasn’t going to tell him what she did which confused him but he didn’t push for anything more. They were on the brink of something but somehow she pulled back, away from the memory of their past, away from him. _Fine_, he thought, _this isn't the time or place_. He continued pulling his shirt off after silence followed them and stepped inside the bathroom. It smelled like the generic soap they’d bought from the supermarket when they picked up supplies and nothing else. He could hear the TV, reporters and experts still mulling over the terrorist attack. It was only when he closed the door that she spoke again. “I'll get us some food.”

He listened for the door opening and closing behind her before he started his shower. The sticky feeling of being under the sun most of the afternoon combined with the thought of them being exposed to that biochemical weapon made Bucky want to scrub his skin raw. That and the fact that he might have misread things concerning Natasha and now he’s probably ruined his chance to tell her everything. 

When he exited the bathroom (after a good fifteen minutes of aforementioned scrubbing), Natasha was still nowhere in sight. The TV was still on that news channel. They were reporting that some of the survivors hadn’t made it, the few who did were in the ICU. He shook his head as he dug through his bag for a change of clothes. He managed to slip on his pants and was halfway done with the shirt when his phone rang. Natasha’s burner phone number flashed across the screen and he swiped it immediately.

“Where did you get food? Chisinau? I’m starving—”

“Winter Soldier,” a slimy voice with a thick Russian accent greeted him and he immediately stood straight, already forming a mental map of their surroundings in his head. They’d checked the perimeter before but he didn’t feel very safe in their little safehouse in the woods. “Seems like you didn't learn your lesson after all. Still fraternizing with the Widow, I see.”

Bucky squeezed his phone, felt the material of it soften in his flesh hand. “Where is she?”

“She’s sleeping soundly right here in front of me.”

“What do you want?” He tried his best to keep his voice leveled but he was gritting his teeth.

“Hmm,” the voice stalled a bit. In this lull, Bucky could hear the faint sound of an engine, a car running. So they were on land, still. They must not have been that far ahead of him. “The Department wants its prized Asset back.”

“Let the Widow go and we’ll talk.”

“I don’t believe that you’re in the place to negotiate, Soldat. The Widow is also an Asset that belongs to our friends and we’re taking her  _ home _ .” The tone of his voice was a playful taunt and Bucky wanted to reach into his phone to catch his tongue to rip it out. He was about to do the alternative and yell but the line was cut. 

The table he slammed the phone onto almost broke under the force of his hand. He tried his best to reel in the fury that was bubbling inside of him but he failed, for a small moment at least, as he rammed his metal fist into a concrete wall accompanied by a scream laced with rage. Once again, he put Natalia in harm’s way. He should have known that they were trying to get to him. After all, he still had unfinished business with his captors.

After exactly two minutes of counting (he managed to reach the 500s before he stopped), he was calm enough to start thinking straight. Bucky started packing up the safehouse, shoving his things into his duffel and bringing along Natasha’s own bag with him as he waited for Sharon to pick up his call.

“I need a ride to Russia,” he spoke immediately once he heard the click of her phone.

“What? Why? Hold on, I’m almost at my office.” He listened as he stuffed a Sig Sauer in his lower back against his jeans and another one in the holster he wore underneath his jacket. His knives were in his pockets as well as on the side of his boot. This would do for now, he thought. He’ll dress for the battle once he figures out where it is. 

“It’s Bucky, says he’s going to Russia.” He heard Sharon say to another person on her end of the line. “Bucky,” she spoke into the receiver. “I put you on speaker. Steve’s with me. Tell me what’s up.”

“What’s up is that I need a ride to Russia immediately, preferably within the hour. I know who the terrorist is.” Bucky slung his duffel over his shoulder and picked up the phone so that he could carry Natasha’s as well with his other hand.

“Our nearest bird is in Bucharest. I can send someone to pick you up—”

“Send them now.” Bucky turned off the lights and locked the small cabin up, fall leaves crunching under his boots as he walked to the back to disable the electricity.

“Buck.” It was Steve this time. “Where’s Natasha?”

There it was. The dreaded question. He paused and took his time flicking multiple switches off before answering. “They took her. I’m going to get her back.”

“Buck, hold on. Me and Sam, we could be there in a couple of hours—”

“_No_,” he said firmly, walking towards the direction of the road. If they took Natasha, it wouldn’t surprise him if they knew where the safehouse was. He needed to be mobile. “There's no time for that. The Department wants me back. They were luring me out.”

“Then why did they take Natasha?” Sharon asked. 

“Because,” he sighed, the half-lie that followed sounding all too natural. “They’re using her as bait.”

“Sending the bird your way now. ETA 45 minutes. Will send the coordinates to your phone.”

Bucky started walking down the road, surrounded by trees. They had parked an emergency vehicle just a couple of meters away, just in case. Thankfully, it was still there undisturbed. He dropped the bags in the backseat and settled into the driver’s seat as Steve went on about how he can’t go alone and that he and Sam could provide him some assistance. “We have your back, Buck, this could be dangerous.”

“Steve, I’m one of the most dangerous things that Hydra has ever created.” It was a fact. And it wasn’t just because of the metal arm of it all, too. His new arm wasn’t even from them anymore and yet they wanted him back. No, they didn't want the arm. They wanted the man attached to it. “I’m going to go against some pretty bad people and I’m going to do pretty bad things to them, Steve. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Buck—”

“Sent you the coordinates. Let me know if you need anything else,” Sharon interrupted. He could just imagine her giving Steve one of her  _ looks _ that made him shut up. She seemed to be the only person who could do that.

Bucky reached for the laptop in Natasha’s bag and opened it up on his lap, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he typed in the passcode. “Actually, I do need one more thing. Do you have any idea where the Red Room is?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're really in it now sisters! We're off to the Red Room in the next chapter. Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments. I love reading them <333


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky walks willingly into a trap, because why not?

The thing about crossing the Russian border in a quinjet is that you needed to make sure that absolutely no Russians knew that you were crossing their border in a quinjet. The old SHIELD had ties to the Kremlin and so did Natasha but Bucky wasn’t that connected. Thankfully, the bird was equipped with stealth technology and he wasn't afraid to use it, much to the agent flying him there's great disapproval. Still, he followed his orders, too scared to say no to the Winter Soldier, especially when he was getting ready to kill whoever stood between him and the Black Widow, no matter how many they were. 

As they flew, Bucky had Sharon trying to figure out where the Red Room was. He’s only seen the inside of it, everything else he did when he left the premises was a blur to him. He could remember a nearby body of water, like a river of some sort. In the winter, it would freeze over lightly, the stream of water slow and deadly ice-cold underneath. It was the perfect place to dump bodies that were half-alive. The piercing flow of water finished them off.

That narrowed it down to a hundred other small towns in the country but Sharon called in with her contacts at the CIA and after about another thirty minutes, they narrowed the location down to a small town far east of Moscow. 

The oldest known Red Room facility stood in a clearing in the middle of the woods like a hollow shell. It was a miracle that the harsh winds didn’t pick it up and take it away. Even in the early days of autumn, the place gave him a chill. The house looked intimidating in the darkness with no signs of life. He almost thought he was at the wrong place until he spotted a very modern SUV parked around back. He took his time surveying the perimeter, thankful for the large trees that surrounded most of the house. He was about two klicks away from the back entrance of the house, perched on top of a tree with his binoculars. 

At the back of his mind, he knew the layout of the mansion. It had four floors above ground and three below. Living quarters were found in the topmost levels, classrooms in the middle levels, and training rooms in the second and first floor. There was a huge kitchen at the back of the house and a communal dining room, he knew as much. He's had his meals there, too. A clinic was set up near it in the east. On the other side of the house was a large hall where they liked to watch the girls train. The other rooms, he wasn’t so sure about. However, he did know that exactly three floors underneath the parlor was a reinforced chamber with a specialized chair in it, made especially for him. He didn't have to wonder if it was still there. The man with the slimy voice brought him there for that reason after all. 

There didn’t seem to be any guards in the house and no snipers in any of the windows. It could only mean that they were all waiting for him inside and he had no way of knowing how many they were. This was a risky op, he didn’t need Steve to tell him that, but the risk didn't matter if the reward was Natasha's life. 

He sent Sharon a message, a brief one.  _ Have the extraction team on stand-by. _

***

Bucky could feel the weight of his weapons pressing against his body but none of it mattered to him. It was a familiar weight, an almost comforting heaviness, a suit of armor. If he was going against the people he thinks he was going against, he would have packed the grenade launcher somewhere on his person as well. Instead, he carried his usual. Sigs on both of his thigh holsters, a backup Glock on his right thigh just in case. Another one of those in the holster strapped against the side of his chest, a submachine gun on his back. A couple of knives here and there, Natasha’s bites in one of his utility pockets (just in case she needed them for later), those taser discs he hated, and his arm, of course, because it was capable of punching people through concrete walls.

The Red Room didn’t look as pristine as he remembered it. Some chairs were turned over, book pages torn from their spines, furniture askew. The only new things in the house were the footprints left on the hardwood. Multiple. He followed the trail and it led him down into the sublevels of the house. He expected for there to be a guard stationed near the landing, but there was no one there. He drew the gun he had in his hand, ready to fire at anyone he saw. 

The place was a labyrinth of hallways and examination rooms, some of them he’s been in before, others unfamiliar to him. He remembered seeing a girl down there once, for what he didn't know. He never saw her at the facility again after that brief encounter. 

Bucky expected a man at every corner. If they were smart, they would have filled the house with them. But when he kept stumbling into empty hallways, he got weary. They knew he was coming, knew who he was, and yet they graciously let him get this far without so much as a bead of sweat on his forehead. The stillness in the air didn't settle right in Bucky's stomach. It smelled so dangerously of a trap and he willingly walked into it.  He paused in the middle of one of the corridors when the walls felt like they were starting to close in on him. He took a deep breath and started counting to ten. He was at eight when he heard the faint sound of a man's voice echoing through the hall. He followed it, feet quick with his weapon at the ready. 

Past two rooms, into a narrow hallway, one left turn and there he was. An old frail man, most likely in his late 80’s, sitting on a chair with his back to him. He looked a lot thinner than his voice suggested, fragile. Bucky already had at least ten different ways to dispose of him ready in his mind. For now, he pointed his gun in his head. 

“Nice of you to join us, Soldat,” the slimy voice from the phone definitely belonged to him. Bucky’s finger twitched against the trigger, the only thing that stopped him was the light that flooded the room as the man stood. That was when he realized that he had been there before. Many times.

“Looks familiar?” The man said, his thick Russian accent mixing with a familiar voice from the recesses of Bucky's mind. Behind him was a chair— _ his _ chair, connected to monitors and wires. Bucky felt a lump in his throat as the vivid feeling of electricity coursing through his veins returned to the forefront of his senses. He stepped back, hand steady as can be. This was definitely a trap. 

He anchored himself on the mission, on the very reason he marched into the lion's den in the first place. “Where is she?”

“The Widow? Somewhere. This is a big house.” The greying man gestured around him, a smirk on his face. He started moving, slow steps. He limped on one leg, dragging it instead of stepping. 

“Tell me where she is or I'll kill you.” He'd kill him either way.

"Oh you won't do that, Soldat," he chuckled. 

"Brave of you to assume that I won't tear your throat from your neck with my bare hands." 

"I have no quarrel there. I know what you're capable of." The man lifted his pants on his left leg to show that it was what Bucky had presumed—a prosthetic. 

He narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" 

He let go of the fabric in his hands, concealing his leg again. The man gestured to the chair he had just gotten up from. " _ Why don't you sit down and I'll tell you, Soldat. _ " 

"No. I'm not sitting in any goddamn chair. Where the hell is she?" 

" _ The Widow is currently being prepped for a program. The Red Room has reclaimed its prized pupil. _ " 

Bucky moved for the door before he could even finish the sentence, leaving the man with his chair and all but stormed the rooms in the hallway, his fury coursing like fire in his veins. He didn't even consider it, didn't even_ think_ that they'd try to reprogram Natasha. They've left her alone all this time, let her live her life, let her become something beyond what they've created her to be. Why now? Were they just waiting all this time? Had he looked at this all wrong? Had their target always been the both of them and not _just_ him? He kicked open the first door he saw and inspected it—empty. The two other doors that followed were also empty. 

"Natasha!" He yelled out. They knew he was there, there was no reason to be quiet anymore. He was well down the hallway when the frail man spoke again. 

" _ Foolish boy _ ," the man called out. " _ So much potential is wasted on your predictability _ ." 

Bucky furrowed his brows and aimed his gun in his direction, finger adjusting to the trigger only to have someone kick it out of his hand mere seconds before he pulled on it, the gun clattering on the floor away from him.

When he looked up, he was met with a pair of familiar green eyes and then a fist aimed straight at his face. He wasn't able to duck out of it, too stunned to see her and too confused about what was happening. He managed to dodge her following attacks, taking on a defensive stance as she continued her assault. At the end of the hall, he saw the man smile briefly before entering the room where he came from again. 

Bucky grabbed hold of Natasha's wrist as she attempted to hit him and raised it well above her head. "Natasha, what the hell?" 

Her response was to use his hold as leverage to hold herself up and push herself off of him with both feet kicking against his chest and springboarding off of him, making him stumble away from her as she flipped backwards. " _ The Department has tasked me to retrieve their Asset _ ." 

"Nat—what—" 

Bucky wasn't able to speak as she threw two taser discs in his direction, one latching onto his metal arm and the other at his neck, the shock sending him to his knees.  _ Fuck those taser discs. _ The click-clack of her boots against the concrete floor was the last thing he heard before she connected her ankle against the side of his head, sending his face straight to the floor. 

He wasn't going to last if he kept letting her get the upper hand but he didn't want to fight her. He just wanted to take her home. She leaned down to grab the collar of his jacket, pulling his face close to hers. " _ Where did you go, Soldat? I couldn't find you anywhere _ ." Her voice was tender, her other hand running through his hair. 

"Natalia—" 

It was a second too late before he realized that the coolness of her hand wasn't coming from her flesh but another disc. The red of her hair was the last thing he saw before he blacked out. 

* * *

" _ Please _ ," a voice pleaded. Not just any voice, no. Beneath him, a woman held out her bloody hand as if to reach for him. " _ Please, Soldat, it's me. You have to recognize me. _ " 

Why did that voice sound familiar? Behind her, a dead body lay lifeless, his eyes wide open as blood leaked out of the bullet hole in his forehead. The Soldier tightened his grip on his weapon and aimed for the woman's head as she rose unsteadily on her feet. " _ It's me, Natalia. Your Natalia. Remember? _ " 

The Soldier furrowed his brows, heart rate accelerating at the mention of the name, at the sound of her voice. Where has he heard that voice?

He didn't move as the woman approached him, both hands raised above her head as she discarded her weapon. It had been emptied earlier, he knew this. He also knew that she was usually a better shot. She didn't even try to hit him where it hurt.  _ Why? Why didn't she even try? _ The Soldier kept quiet, eyes searching hers. 

" _ It's me, don't shoot. Soldat _ ," she said it so tenderly, tears in her eyes. No, she was crying because she was scared for her life, that was all. Not because of anything else. " _ The Red Room _ .  _ Remember?" _

Red Room? The Soldier's frown deepened. Flashes of red hair and green eyes caught him off guard. He stepped back to keep himself from falling. The sound of laughter echoed inside his head. A smile. A kiss. A warmth that surrounded him like no other. The Soldier's eyes flickered onto hers again. " _ Who— _ " 

" _ I didn't know where they took you, Soldat. I couldn't find you anywhere. _ " They were toe-to-toe now. He doesn't know when he put down his weapon but it was no longer aimed at her. Her hands slowly reached for his face and he kept still, allowing it, but when her fingertips grazed his skin, he hit her with the butt of his gun and fled. 

As he rode his motorcycle down the highway back to base, he struggled with the fact that he knew how soft her skin was, how comfortable it was to be held by her. There was an ache in his chest when he stepped into the base for a debriefing. Mission report: target terminated, SHIELD agent left to die. It was a lie. He's never lied to them before... has he? Still, he lied effortlessly, as if he was trained to lie and not follow their every command like a false religion. The woman's name was at the tip of his tongue, itching to get out, but by the time he remembered what it was, by the time his shared moments with her flashed before his eyes, he was already strapped to his chair and biting onto the leather mouth guard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When will Bucky catch a break???????
> 
> Thank you for reading as always! I'll see you guys in the comments section <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky falls in love with Natasha all over again.

They were being watched that day, the Soldier and Natalia. The commander and Madame B sat behind a table just outside the mats and brought with them files for assessment. Today, the Soldier thought, he would need to break her. They started their spar like they usually did, circling each other, eyes sharp and senses alert. Natalia was the first one to attack, launching herself from the floor to charge at him with a roundhouse kick. The Soldier quickly evaded the attack and countered with a punch to her side. 

Soon, they were engaged in a dance of punches and kicks, blocks and attacks. He's taught her everything he could. She was doing better than she did when he first got there, her movements faster, mind even more so. Despite wanting her to succeed in this test, the Soldier knew that he was also being assessed. If he pulled back or give the young Widow room to overtake him, they'd jot it down. He can't be obvious, can't let them know how difficult it was to dig a knee into the girl's back and nearly break her arm in the process. Natalia squirmed underneath him, crying out in pain as he pinned her into the mattress. 

He wanted to tell her to get up, to fight back, but he didn't have to tell her anything. She knew the consequences of failure on her part, has witnessed how girls were eliminated for their weakness. Still, she tapped on the mat and he released her, only to be swept from underneath him, their roles quickly reversing as she straddled his chest, fists digging into his face one after the other. No, he didn't teach the Widow how to fight fair. He taught her how to win. 

Later that night, she sat on his lap and kissed every inch of his face with the softest lips, her hands skimming over his shoulders as his rested on her waist. He healed quickly, quicker than most people, definitely quicker than her, but the faint bruises were still there and she looked at him apologetically when he slipped inside her room. 

" _ I'm sorry _ ," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his. 

" _ Stop. You won today. You should be proud _ ." He reached to cradle her jaw in his hand, thumb caressing her cheek. He would let her beat him to a pulp if it meant being showered by her kisses afterward. 

" _ To be fair, you almost broke my arm _ ." 

" _ To be fair _ ." A smile tugged against his lips, closing the space between them and kissing her tenderly.

* * *

Bucky woke up with a jolt, the memory disappearing right before his eyes as he adjusted to the bright light of the room he was in. He tried to move but his hands were bound in metal bars, legs strapped against the chair—his chair. His breathing started becoming uneven as his heart rate went up. The room suddenly felt a hundred times smaller, the walls closing in around him. He struggled against his restraints, his fight or flight mode activated but he could do neither. 

" _ Calm down, Soldat, you'll strain yourself for nothing. _ " The voice came from the man he wanted to kill, sitting just outside the light. The sound of a boot against concrete from behind him alerted him of Natasha's position. He wouldn't have known she was there if she hadn't deliberately let him. Bucky narrowed his eyes, relaxing back in the chair to take in the room. 

The bright light felt like a spotlight on him but he could make out some of the details. Two guards were by the door, armed with submachine guns. Finally. He was wondering where they were and he was willing to bet that there were more of them outside. Just in front of them was the man in his grey suit, fragile and easily broken. Behind Bucky was the most dangerous weapon of all, keeping herself in his blind spot. They've stripped him of his own weapons. It was a miracle (and a mistake) that they didn’t take his arm off as well.

_ "Do you not remember me at all?" _ The man spoke again but Bucky didn't respond, his jaw a tight vice.  _ "A little over ten years ago you went on a mission to assassinate a nuclear engineer, a traitor."  _

Odessa. Bucky kept quiet, the memory, like all of his other memories, hazy. He knew Natasha was there, knew that he almost killed her but stopped just short of doing so. He heard her move behind him again, stepping closer.

_ "You came back from the mission erratic, lashing out at the people who were working on restoring your damaged arm—people like myself."  _

In his mind's eye he could see how the Soldier gripped on a doctor's throat when he removed a bullet from his metal arm. He threw him across the room. When another doctor tried to restrain him, he started kicking. He kicked his kneecaps in, and then stepped on his shin, the sound of the bone cracking echoing in his ears.  _ Fuck _ . 

In front of him, the man nodded to the person behind Bucky. Soon, slender fingers wrapped themselves around his throat, forcing him to lean back against the headrest. He caught sight of her red hair before she pulled the headpiece down onto him. She didn't meet his eyes but from where he sat, he saw a patch attached to the side of her neck with thin wires running down and disappearing into her shirt. 

"Natalia," he whispered. She met his eyes briefly before stepping away again, disappearing behind him. 

_ "Our masters would be very pleased to see you back and I will be rewarded handsomely." _ Finally, Natasha walked into his peripheral vision, hands skimming on top of a table he couldn't quite see. It wasn't until she picked up a knife that Bucky figured out what was on it. That was his knife. His weapons were on that table.

The man whose name he still couldn't remember moved towards the machines on his left. He flicked on one switch and Bucky felt the machine hum around him as it came alive. He struggled against his restraints, eyes searching for Natasha. The man turned on another switch and the humming grew louder. He could feel the electricity radiating off the chair. 

Meanwhile, Natasha stepped out from the shadows. Her hair shone bright under the lights. He could see bruises on her face and against her wrists. His eyes caught the patch again and she purposely angled herself so that he wouldn't look at it. Her eyes were hidden in shadows as she circled him, stopping by the doctor's side. The knife she held onto earlier was gone. 

" _ Soon, you won't be anything but a hollow shell, ready to comply _ ." The bastard had the audacity to smile.  _ "Much like the Widow." _

Bucky kept his eyes trained on Natasha as she stood silently beside the doctor, silently begging her to do something, anything, despite not knowing if she even can. The doctor turned back to his machine, finger on the switch, but before he could turn it Natasha slipped the blade from her sleeve and drove it into the doctor's wrist and then into his throat, blood gushing down the front of his suit. She was on the two guards not a minute later, kicking one as it charged towards her with his gun before driving the knife into his neck as well. The remaining guard froze, cowering by the door, not knowing who to shoot. Bucky pulled against his restraints enough to distract him before a knife was driven into his neck too. 

On the floor near him, the doctor was choking in his own blood, his hand (the one that wasn't bleeding) reaching for his pocket. 

"Natalia," Bucky called, but she was already on it. With no hesitation, she drove the heel of her boot into his arm, the bone cracking under her force. As the doctor tried to scream, he only gurgled more blood. 

"Fucking  _ mudak _ ," she muttered, crouching down to fish something out of the man's pocket. It was a small metal device, but he couldn't see any clearer than that. She shoved it inside her own pocket and went over to the machines, turning each of the switches off. The humming stopped and she finally faced him. 

"Natalia…" 

"Hold on." She moved behind him and took the headpiece off. More movement behind him and soon the metal grips released him. He proceeded to rip the wires off of his chest. When he tried to stand, his vision darkened and he had to sit back down. 

"Easy." He felt her hand against his neck and flinched. "Shhh, it's just me. You've been sitting too long. Stretch out your legs." 

He did as she said and tried to relax, closing his eyes. "Natalia, what—" 

"I need you to do me a favor," she said. His vision slowly cleared, the black spots disappearing. She took another knife from the table beside them and started taking off her shirt. The wires from the patch on her neck led to another patch on her chest. "Bastard installed a kill switch while I was knocked out."

Bucky reached for the knife in her hand, unsure of what to do. He stood and inspected her neck, fingers lingering on her skin there. "How deep does it go?" 

"Surface level. Should be easy to shimmy out." 

"If I take it off, you'll bleed." 

"What's a little blood in exchange for your life?" She gifted him with a small smile.

Bucky paused at that, fighting the urge to hold her against him, the urge to touch her face to make sure she was real. 

Moments later, he sat her down on a chair in front of him and started removing the patch against her neck. The patch latched onto her skin and she hissed when he peeled the edge. She nodded for him to continue. "Just rip it off, it's fine." 

Bucky held onto the edge of the small metal disk with his left hand and she rested her head on his shoulder, both for support and to hide her face. He counted to three in his head, ripping the small device off along with some of her skin there. The bleeding wasn't as bad as he thought it'd be but with the way she held onto his arm, he knew it was painful. 

The one on her chest was trickier, a bit larger. It rested over her heart and she had to let the strap of her bra fall off her shoulder so that she could pull the material down. Bucky gulped and she chuckled. "Nothing you haven't seen before,  _ Soldat _ ." 

"Shut up," he murmured. He needed to use the blade of his knife to lift it from the sides, wiggling it to loosen it up, the adhesive they used clinging onto her skin. She hissed again. This one was going to hurt more. "How long have you known?" 

Natasha took a breath as he worked on getting the patch out. "From the beginning." 

"You didn't say anything." 

"You couldn't recognize me. Thought it'd be best to leave it." Her fingers dug into his arm as he lifted another portion of the small ticker off of her.

"That's awfully stupid." 

She hissed when he pulled again, a bit of blood running down her chest. "Didn't want to remind you of this place. It wasn't any good to you." 

" _ You _ were. You were the one good thing in all of it." 

Natasha smiled at him then, bloody hand reaching for his face. "Better hurry up, sweetheart. We have an army waiting to kill us outside."

With her torso bare, he saw the amount of bruises there were on her body. There was a clear shape of a boot near her ribs, her wrists purple, knuckles even more so. She fought hard, she always did. Despite everything, he was glad she knew how to fight dirty. It made her a winner, a survivor. 

With another yank, the patch was ripped from her skin and more blood followed. She held back a scream with gritted teeth, fingers digging into the flesh of his arm. He kissed her forehead absentmindedly before throwing the thing onto the floor—a pool of blood from three dead bodies drenching it. 

"You ready for this?" She asked, fixing her bra into place and slipping her shirt over her head. 

He located his shirt and jacket in the corner near his guns. "I'm so fucking tired." 

"You and me both." 

It took him less than a couple of minutes to gear up. Natasha wielded his knife, apparently a new favorite of hers, with one of his Glocks squeezed in the waist of her pants. He was looking for his ammo when he found her bites instead. "Hey." He tossed her the two bracelets and she grinned. 

"Thanks.”

Bucky couldn't help but grin back, his heart two sizes bigger. Even with blood smeared across her face, she was still the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid her eyes on. He loved her. Even if they took her away from his brain again, he knew he'd still manage to fall in love with her. Over and over again. Without fail. 

Once by the door, he turned to her. "What's the plan?" 

"The plan is to get out alive."

With a grin on his face, he opened the door and said, "Sounds good to me." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! Sorry for being MIA for the last couple of weeks. I've been sick and I've been taking care of my mental health. But I'm back so we're going to see this fic to the end. I hope you all like this. The next chapter won't take weeks to be uploaded I swear.
> 
> Also, catch me at my Tumblr (pinklights) and send me Buckynat prompts! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky and Natasha fight bad guys while looking at each other with heart eyes.

He knew in his heart that he loved her as he watched her drive a knife into a Hydra goon’s neck for the nth time that day, her legs wrapped around another man’s head to use him as a proxy vantage point. Bucky took his time shooting the hoard in front of them, careful not to waste his bullets but also careful not to accidentally shoot Natasha. She was fast but he could tell her own injuries were gaining on her once they got to the first basement level. She pressed against a wall beside him, her hand against her ribs and he couldn’t help but worry.

Bucky took a second to assess her. She was breathing heavily and so was he, blood splatters on her face, even more so than earlier. She was probably exhausted. Not only did she have to fight for herself but she had to save his ass, too.

“I’ll take point,” he said as he reloaded his Sig. The fact that it wasn’t a question took her off guard and she was about to protest when he pushed forward, planting bullets into the skull of the first person he spotted. 

He moved swiftly, he made it a point to be fast, to take out as many as he could so that his companion wouldn’t strain so much. However, he could see her in his peripheral vision, a blur of red seemingly moving in competition against him.

“Are we counting?” He yelled over the noise of gunshots.

“Are we?” She gave him a little smirk in the middle of all the chaos and he would have fallen on his knees right there but he had a job to do. 

With renewed determination, he powered through the crowd. One down, two, three, four—how many of them were there? Too many. The scraggly one in front of him emptied his bullets in his direction, which he only deflected with the arm. These people weren’t very well trained, he thought. They weren’t very bright either as one of them caught Natasha’s ankle as he withered on the floor, earning him a boot to the face.

Six, seven—the red blur has advanced ahead of him, stubbornly leading despite him trying to do something nice for her for once. Once they got to the end of the hall, it was done. Aside from one or two groans far down, the facility was silent. 

Bucky took a breath and withdrew his weapon, the metal hot against his hand. Natasha did the same as she looked at the trail of bodies they’ve left. He wanted to say something, a joke about how they didn’t call it the Red Room for nothing, or an estimate of how many goons he put down. But he got distracted when Natasha reached for him, her warm, dirtied hand intertwined with his. 

“Something on my face, Romanoff?” His thumb caressed the skin of her hand.

After staring at him for what felt like an eternity, green eyes tracing his features, she looked straight at him and gave him a small smile. “Just your face, Barnes.”

*******

Bucky sat on the front steps of the Red Room beside Natasha as dawn broke, the sky turning a lighter shade of blue after what seemed like an endless night. She had blood on her hands, some splattered on her face, he did too. This probably was the messiest fight he’s ever been in and he’s been in  _ a lot  _ of fights. Sharon said the extraction team was going to take fifteen minutes tops. That meant fifteen minutes of him getting alone time with the woman who saved his life more than once. A woman currently picking out dried blood from underneath her nails. 

“Steve would not approve of the mess inside,” she said as she wiped the blade of her knife. His knife. But he probably wasn’t getting it back at this point. 

Bucky tugged on his high-neck collar, unfastening the buttons. “Steve doesn’t have to know shit.” 

She laughed, full and hearty. It was the first time he’s heard her laugh like that since he got back from cryostasis and it warmed his heart like no other. She spun the knife in her hand, the hilt in his direction as she offered it back like she just borrowed a pen and hadn’t killed a bunch of men with it. He grinned.

“I thought you were going to kill me in there.”

“To be fair, you didn’t even  _ try _ to fight me.”

“To be fair.” Bucky slipped the knife in its designated pocket in his jacket as Natasha busied herself with her nails again.

The gentle silence of the morning settled in between them. With light came the glimmer in her green eyes, beautiful as ever. “Natalia, do you think we could start again?”

She looked over to him thoughtfully and said, “No.” Bucky’s heart almost dropped to his stomach but her smile kept it in place. “We’ve lost enough time, don’t you think?”

Bucky’s heart dropped to his stomach anyway, the feeling not unpleasant as hope replaced it in his chest. Being there with her, in that house, with the mess they’ve made of it inside—it all felt so cathartic. This was them, he thought, sticking it to the people who tore them apart. This was them… getting back together? “So… what does this mean for us, exactly?”

She shifted and turned towards him completely, moving closer towards him until their knees touched. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a date around here?”

_ Jesus Christ, Barnes.  _ He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “A date, right. We’ve never had a proper one before… I think?” He eyed her and she nodded. “So, dinner then?Maybe drinks?”

Natasha chuckled, the tips of her fingers wandering onto where her knee and his touched. It felt electric despite the thick material of his pants. He wanted more of it. “If you didn’t have blood on your face, I’d kiss you right now.”

“Never stopped you before,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth on their own accord. 

“You’re right.”

She moved even closer, her fingers reaching up for his face. There she was again, studying him. He wondered what it was she saw or what she wanted to see, if she liked what she was seeing or if she had been expecting something else. “Natalia—”

Natasha reached up to him and pressed her lips against him, the kiss soft and almost shy. Bucky kissed her back, leaning into her, his hands finding their way to her face to hold her in place, to deepen their kiss. She tasted like blood and dust but still his heart swelled as her tongue met his. 

The world faded around them, as cliche as that sounded. Then again, cliches had to come from somewhere, right? How long has he missed this? Missed her? Missed the way she felt, the way her fingers carded through his hair, the way she made him feel. He probably missed her all this time, he just didn’t know it because she was taken from him. But they were there now, together. He’d have to kill anyone who tried to stand between them.

He pulled away reluctantly, smiling against her lips as their noses touched. He’s never felt this way before. “Natalia, I—”

“What in the world is going on?” 

They both instinctively drew their weapons at the voice that startled them only to find Sam, his wings behind him. He held his hands up in defense, waving his hands around and they both tucked their guns back in place. Bucky didn’t know if he was going to panic or not but Natasha kept her cool and stood once it was clear to her that it was just Sam. He followed shortly after, walking towards their metal-winged friend behind her.

“You two want to explain what I just saw with my own two eyeballs just now?”

“No,” Natasha shrugged. Sam looked expectantly at him then and he just kind of did a motion with his hands while shaking his head. 

The jet landed in the field moments later, saving Bucky from Sam’s nudging and confusing hand signals. When the ramp to the jet opened, it revealed Steve there with a group of medics with him. They instantly crowded around him and Natasha as they got on the plane, checking for any grave injuries.

“Her ribs,” Bucky told the medic. Natasha glared at him for a quick second before sitting down so that she could be checked. His eyes watched as they lifted her shirt up, the bruise on her torso looking far worse than when he last saw it a couple of hours earlier. 

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked, clamping an arm around his shoulder.

“Oh, he’s _A-okay_, Cap.” Sam answered for him, nudging his side sharply before sitting in the cockpit. 

Steve looked at him inquisitively but Bucky only shrugged. It was the only thing he could really do. That and maybe wash the blood off his face. “I told you not to come.”

“Yeah, well, I was worried about you two. You were pretty serious over the phone.”

They sat across the jet from where Natasha was being bandaged, his eyes finding hers amidst the buzz around them. She hissed when one of the medics pulled on her wrap but nodded him away, mouthing ‘I’m okay’. It wasn’t that he had no doubt that she was okay. She’s survived worse. But he couldn’t stop himself from worrying, especially now that he was allowed to.

“It  _ was _ pretty serious,” he mused, finally peeling his eyes off of Natasha so that he could look at his best friend. “But I’m fine. I swear”

Steve ducked his head so that he could look at the big old house through the window. “So, this is the Red Room, huh?”

“Used to be.” Bucky started shrugging off his jacket, the weight of it getting uncomfortable now. With Steve and Sam there, and Natasha safe, he finally let himself calm down and feel tired and  _ god  _ he was so tired. “Now it’s just a house.” A grave site, he wanted to say, but the less Steve knew about the blood stained walls and the dozens of dead Hydra personnel that littered its underground halls, the better.

“Are we all ready to go?” Sam asked from the pit. Steve took it as his cue to get up and strap in. 

“Get us out of here, Sam,” Natasha said, standing as well. Her wounds have been tended to, midsection bandaged. Bucky, in the meantime, busied himself trying to find wet wipes from the storage. Natasha had already strapped into the seat behind Sam’s when he handed her a couple for the gunk on her face. She muttered a thanks as he sat down beside her, a small smile gracing her lips as her fingers grazed over his. He didn't want to say that his heart skipped a beat in that moment but it was the best way to describe it. 

As they ascended from the small Russian town where their shared past lay in silence, Bucky couldn’t help but think that they were burying at least some of the hurt and pain that working for the Department and the Red Room had caused them. They've stolen so much of their time, so much of their lives. If a house full of dead agents wasn't enough of a message for Hydra, he didn't know what was.

And good fucking riddance, to be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh they did it! And we're almost at the end, too. Thank you for sticking around this far. Kudos and comments are well appreciated <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we come to the end of Bucky and Natasha's story. (Also, smut!)

Natasha’s fingers were hot against his skin as they traced a line down his neck, her breath warm against his cheek. What started out as a regular date night with good food and a bit of music ended up with him pressed against a wall in an alley somewhere in the East Village, his hands fixtures on her waist as she kissed his jaw before following her fingers with her lips, settling on the base of his neck to suck on the skin there.

“Did you enjoy dinner at least?” Bucky asked, clearing his throat. He picked her up at around 8PM and they headed to one of those fancy restaurants Sharon recommended. They had a lot of wine, probably too much, but it hadn’t affected him much. He assumed that it didn’t affect her either but now he wasn’t quite sure.

“I did,” she said, pulling back to look at him. Her eyes had that dangerous glint in them that he’s seen many times in his dreams—his memories—her cheeks flushed and her lipstick a bit smudged. “Food was delicious, company even more so.”

Bucky smiled down at her as his hand reached for her face, thumb grazing against her cheek. “Let me take you home.”

“Oh?” She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, and suddenly he felt like he had the whole world in his hands. “Kiss me goodnight and stuff?”

“And_ stuff, _ yeah.” His heart was already doing flips inside of his chest just from holding her like this. “This isn’t a backstreet in Montmartre after all.”

Her eyes opened then, a grin spreading across her face. “You remember that?”

“Yeah, and I vaguely remember being on my knees at one point.”

She laughed lightly and the sound of it echoed inside of him, making him fall in love even more, if that was even possible. She was younger then, still a Widow of the Red Room, and he’d been on an assignment nearby. One thing led to another and they found themselves pressed against a wall on the street much like this one, the glow of the Paris street lights surrounding them. It was foolish, they knew, risky. But god, they took every chance they got. 

All throughout dinner, he felt nervous, as if people around them were watching them, assessing them. Their time together in the Red Room was a whole lifetime ago but old habits die hard. Bucky had to remind himself that they’ve made it out of that century alive, that they weren’t being monitored, that they were free. A smile and a touch from her was all it took for him to come back to the present, her stories about what her life had been like after that time filling a chunk of their evening.

“Yes, it was very stupid,” she said, hand trailing down his chest to his pants, finger looping around a belt hoop. 

His other hand tightened around her waist and pulled her closer, crashing his lips against hers. She tasted like wine and the ice cream they got after dinner. Her apartment was only a few blocks away, but to wait until then to kiss her was torture. He hasn’t been very patient lately, especially with her. When he felt her fingers graze over his growing erection over his pants, he gasped against her lips. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Let’s go. We’re going.”

Natasha’s laughter filled the air again as he pulled on her wrist and led her down the alley, heading towards her apartment. She wrapped her arm around his, leaning against him like a giddy debutante. “Your pants look very uncomfortable,” she said. She was no debutante.

“They are,” he groaned. Two more blocks.

“Glad to know I still have that effect on you.”

Bucky looked at her then. “You have no idea the effect you have on me.”

“Show me then,” she said, her tone suggestive, almost purring into his ear. They practically sprinted to her building, dodging passing pedestrians as they made their way. Her apartment was on the third floor of an elevator-less building, which wasn’t a problem, but she’d kissed him deep and hard on the first step and proceeded to run up the stairs, her laughter filling the stairwell. Bucky chased after her, two steps at a time, until he finally caught her unlocking her door. 

He wrapped her arms around her waist and nuzzled into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. “I can’t believe you made me run after you.”

“Let me be cheesy for once in my life,” she said, pushing the door open, finally. He shuffled them inside and pinned her against the nearest wall, kissing the grin off her face.

Natasha hooked a leg around his, grinding against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him in closer, kissing deeper. Bucky’s fingers slipped underneath the hem of her dress, dragging over the smooth skin of her thighs before dipping lower and hoisting her up against the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling away from their kiss to breathe. His mouth attached itself to her neck then, sucking on her skin there as her hands carded into his hair. His heart was beating so fast that he was sure it was going to pop out of his chest. 

“My room is that way,” she said, nodding to the direction down the hall. Bucky pulled them off of the wall and carried her there, reconnecting their lips on the way. 

With one arm secured around Natasha, Bucky clumsily turned the knob to her bedroom and pushed them inside, knocking over something on a shelf by the door on the way. It was dark, the only light they had to work with was the orange glow coming from the street lights outside, peering into her window. Between that and his lips not wanting to disengage from her skin, he was basically going in blind. 

“Ah,” he gasped, his leg hitting something hard. The sound of something clattering onto the floor made Natasha laugh. He realized he knocked into the bedside table when he looked down. When he felt the bed behind his knees, he let himself fall back onto it, Natasha following him, still laughing. 

Her bed was soft but not too soft and her sheets smelled like her. He didn’t want to move at all from where he laid down.

“Milii moi,” Natasha said, sitting on top of him with her hand on his cheek. “I think you owe me a new lamp.”

“We can get a new one tomorrow,” he smiled up at her lazily, hands caressing her thighs.

Natasha leaned into him to press her lips against his, kissing him softly at first, tongue pressing against his lips which he willingly parted for her. He missed this, he realized, missed _ her. _ And he didn’t even know it, didn’t even think of her for almost fifty years. That’s what they took away from them. _ Decades. _ He could have loved her for decades.

Bucky was mildly disappointed when she pulled back but got distracted by the way she adjusted herself on top of him as her fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt. She wasted no time after, moving from his shirt to his belt, hands quick. She’s done this before. She licked her lips as she concentrated on unbuttoning his pants, the faint sound of a zipper resonating in his ears before he felt a cold hand take a hold of his cock. He groaned, hips pushing up instinctively into her touch.

“Natalia,” he half-warned half-sighed, reaching for her wrist.

“Yes?” Her voice would have sounded innocent to anyone else, but he knew her. She moved her hand up and down his shaft, touch almost feather light. It was the worst kind of torture. Bucky gulped but pulled her hand away and pushed himself up into a sitting position so that he could kiss her again. His hands idly went to the zipper of her dress behind her, dragging it languidly down her back until the material fell from her shoulders and gathered around her hips. 

Natasha slipped his own shirt off of his shoulders and tossed it away, disconnecting their mouths to kiss his jaw, down his throat. Bucky cupped her ass then, holding her tight until he could stand and deposited her onto the bed. He kicked off his shoes and toed off his socks before slipping out of his pants and underwear completely. On the bed, Natasha watched as she leaned back on her elbows, eyes dark as they trailed down his body. 

“Liking what you see, doll?” He smirked in her direction, putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m mildly impressed,” she shrugged but smirked back anyway.

“Well, I guess I have to prove myself.” Bucky reached for her ankles and tugged her to the edge of the bed, earning a yelp and a laugh from her. He got on his knees in front of her, placing her knees on either of his shoulders.

“You’re playing dirty, soldier.”

“Just the way you like it, ma’am,” he grinned and pulled her even closer before pulling on the dress that was still around her and slipping it off of her, tossing it somewhere behind him. She was left in her underwear—black, lacy, and a bit dangerous.

“Like them?” She parted her legs a little wider, revealing more of herself to him. “I picked them out the other day with you in m—”

Bucky pressed a single finger against her, finding wetness on the silky fabric of her panties. She sighed and shifted her hips, attempting to move closer but he caught her hip in his metal hand and held her in place. He continued running his finger up and down the thin material, feeling her through the fabric and enjoying the light sounds she was making. He wanted to hear her more, make her loud. They were allowed that now. 

He reached for the lacy edges of her underwear and slowly slipped it down her thighs, past her calves, and tossing it somewhere. He swallowed at the sight of her splayed in front of him, for him. 

“Like what you see, soldier?” 

He didn’t bother answering, instead he dipped his head so that he could press his tongue against her wet core. Natasha moaned, her hands immediately going to his head to grip on his hair. Bucky ran his tongue up her slit, lips coated in her slick as he slipped a finger inside of her easily. 

She muttered a Russian curse into the air as she tried to lift her hips to meet him but he kept her in place. He slipped his middle as well as his index finger inside of her, working in a faster pace as he pressed his tongue flat on her clit before sucking on the small bundle of nerves. Natasha squeezed her thighs together, trapping his head there as he worked on her, making sure everything he did brought her pleasure. Soon, he felt her flutter against his fingers, thighs trembling around her as she reached her orgasm. Bucky eased her through it, pressing kisses on her inner thighs as he let her ride out her high on his fingers, his metal hand gently caressing her sides. 

“Wow,” she whispered breathlessly and Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he rose to his feet, wiping her slick from his mouth with the back of his hand. He was suddenly very aware of how painfully hard he was but he wasn’t going to rush her. Not when she looked like _ that. _

“You sound surprised, I should be offended,” he said. 

Natasha only smiled at him and moved up the bed, her arms then beckoning him to join her which he gladly obliged. He hovered over her, his metal arm taking his weight as his right hand reached for her face before he leaned in for another kiss. He could still taste her in his mouth but it didn’t seem like she minded all that much. He could kiss her for as long as he was alive, as long as she’d have him, he was sure of it. But when he accidentally grazed against her thigh, he couldn’t help but let out a sound that could only be described as a desperate whimper. 

She smiled against his lips. “I missed you,” she whispered, her fingers suddenly wrapped around his cock. He groaned again, burying his nose against her neck as his hips moved involuntarily against her hand. She had her ways. She always did.

And not a second longer, Bucky found himself on his back with Natasha straddling him. He felt his blood rush up to his cheeks at the sight of her, aligning herself so that she could sink on top of him, around him, feeling absolutely perfect. He let out a breath, hands reaching for her thighs just so he could hold her, could feel her skin, could make sure she was real. 

She was so warm, tight, and when she started moving he was sure he wasn’t going to last as long as he’d hoped. Bucky didn’t believe in God, at least not anymore, not like he used to; but if he still did he would thank Him for the woman who was looking at him like he was the whole world—with her dark eyes, a lazy smile, and the utter determination she had on her face. She wanted it to be good for him, but she didn’t need to try that hard to make sure of that. 

Natasha leaned forward, connecting their mouths in a kiss that was mostly tongues and teeth as she began tightening around him. Bucky wrapped his arms around her, meeting her with sharp thrusts, determined to have her come a second time before he did but the coil in the pit of his stomach was growing tighter and tighter. He’s never felt this kind type of hunger in a long time. Not since—

Natasha moaned against his ear, signaling her orgasm, as if he didn’t feel the force of her suctioning him deeper as she did, walls fluttering around him. She’s stopped moving all together, hips jerking every now and then as she rode out her high. Bucky followed soon after, stilling as he came, his vision white.

It took him a couple of seconds to bring himself back, the feeling of soft lips against his jaw drawing him back to reality. 

“Jesus,” he whispered, arms still holding onto Natasha. His heart was still pounding against his chest, refusing to calm down, to hold still. 

“Just me, sweetheart.” She continued pressing soft kisses on his skin, lazy and slow, as if they had all the time in the world. And maybe, finally, they did.

He turned them over so that he could deposit her onto the space beside him and slip out of her. The lazy smile she had earlier was still on her face, eyes looking at him through heavy lids. Bucky pushed some of her hair away from her face and leaned in to kiss her again, briefly, before pulling away just so he could continue staring at her. She was real, he knew that. She was real, he wasn’t dreaming, and he was free to stare at her for as long as he can.

A soft hand rested on his cheek, thumb caressing his cheek bone. “Beautiful man, what’s going on behind those eyes?”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile and duck his head. The compliments were something he was never going to get used to. He turned to kiss her palm. “I love you, Natalia. I don’t think I’ve ever said it. You know… before.”

“You did. In your own way.”

He nodded, and let himself lay back on his side. She shifted in her place so that they were face to face; her hand kept still on his cheek, eyes taking in every detail of his face. 

“I love you too, James Barnes.”

He’s never heard his name come out of her mouth like that before, with a proclamation of love he was afraid he was imagining. It sounded nice, sounded like something he could hold onto. Bucky moved closer so that he could wrap his arms around her, tucking her onto his side and kissing her forehead. 

“Good date?” he asked.

“It was alright. I kind of have reservations about how it ended though…”

He could feel her smirking against him and he couldn’t help but grin. Bucky’s fingers took her chin and tilted her head up so that he could see her clearly and he was right. There was that glint in her eyes, the same one as back at the alley. “Oh? Should I make it up to you?”

“Mmm,” she hummed, stretching so that she could kiss the underside of his jaw. “If you’re still up for it.”

“You know I’m up for anything.” Bucky closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers, kissing her deeply, slowly. They had all the time in the world, after all. They had the rest of their lives to make up for lost time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've re-written this chapter probably four times because, as usual, I didn't know how to end it properly. But here it is, the pay-off, the beginning of the rest of their lives!!! I hope you all enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. I was thinking of a sequel for this but I'm still trying to figure it out.
> 
> Tell me what you think in the comments. Thank you for reading <3


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